


Longingly

by Silverblind



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, not a lot of fluff but there is still some so the tag is there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 15:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12867516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverblind/pseuds/Silverblind
Summary: He misses her and longs for her - and maybe she does, too.- takes place during The Punisher Ep. 2, minor spoilers -





	Longingly

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is the first thing I've managed to write in more than a year (figures that the only thing I'd manage to write after all this time would be porn, smh). Anyway, I hope I didn't get too rusty.

Frank sees her walk down the sidewalk towards him, unchanged since the months he had seen her last, beautiful and radiant. He tugs the blanket closer around his face to make sure she does not recognise him, gathering his courage. Had she been safe since they had last seen each other? Had she thought of him? Would she even talk to him? He remembers firefights where he had felt calmer than he felt now. But he can’t hesitate; he needs her. She sweeps by him with barely a look, but he knows how to get her attention.

“Hey Lady,” he calls out, and he sees her steps stutter. “I’m real hungry, got any change?”

She stops, as he knew she would. Pulling a few dollars from her purse, she turns around and hands him the bills with a slight smile – he feels warmth spreading through his chest at the sight – before turning back to go on her way.

“Thanks, Karen.”

He sees it when she hears her name; the tightening of her shoulders, ready to run or fight even before she turns back around to face him. The tension eases once he pulls the blanket away, revealing his face, but she does not smile, does not speak, only staring at him intently as if searching her memories for who he could possibly be.

“You’re still all heart, huh?” he says, only to break the silence, and the spark of amusement he sees in her eye warms his heart, though she does not yet grace him with a laugh or a smile. She steps closer, almost conspiratorially so, the first friendly human being to be so close to him in months.

“Things got this bad, Frank?” she quips, and he feels himself smile ever so slightly.

“Wanted to say hello,” he answers, meeting her gaze. “Figured I’d try my luck out here, and not get my head blown off.”

She chuckles dryly as he gives a pointed look to her purse, where he knows – _hopes_ – she still keeps something to defend herself with. He feels compelled to ask anyway, if only to comfort himself.

“You still got that hand cannon?”

“You better believe it,” she answers, patting her handbag lightly with long, elegant fingers.

“Attagirl,” he says, and he feels his worry ease ever so slightly.

All traces of amusement fades from her as she becomes serious again, and her next question is very simple.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He wants more than anything to tell her everything right where they stand, to share his burden with someone he knew could bear it. But there were too many eyes and ears here – Micro might even be listening to them at that very moment.

“Can we talk?” he asks instead, and though she has every right to refuse him and walk away, she simply looks at him for a long time before motioning for him to follow her.

Still all heart, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

He walks behind her in the street, as close as he dares, and he sees her looking back at him once or twice, as if to check he’s still there. When she looks again, he meets her gaze from beneath his hood, and she holds his stare for a moment before looking away.

They enter her building and climb the stairs in silence, like two strangers who just happened to be headed to the same place. He watches her unlock her door, turning the key and jiggling the doorknob _just so_ – the door will stick of you don’t, he remembers. She had told him so what seemed to be eons ago, now.

She opens the door and steps inside, but he waits for her to wave him in before he does the same. The apartment is dark, the grey light outside barely reaching in, and smells faintly of soap and spices, a pleasant and welcome change from the perpetually musty smell of the room he had rented for so many months. He hears her sigh as she puts down her keys, and he leaves the hall just in time to see her turn on a lamp, its light striking her hair so that droplets of gold seem to run down the long strands. She straightens, and the gold disappears as she turns her back to him to shed her coat.

“Drink?” she asks, already making her way to the kitchen.

“Sure,” he says. He can see her from where he’s standing, but he doesn’t dare look at her when he wills the next words from his throat. “I wasn’t sure you’d still talk to me.”

The thought had been with him night and day ever since he had decided to seek her out, haunting him.

“I wasn’t either,” she says from the fridge, pulling out two bottles, and her answer both amuses and frightens him – he’s not sure what he would have done had she refused to hear him out. He had no one else, no one else like _her_ , to turn to. she pulls her bottle opener from a drawer before giving him an appraising look.

“You look well,” is all she says, and he might have mistaken it for small talk but for the spark in her eye when she adds: “rocking the whole… hipster thing.”

He feels himself smile and a fraction of the tension drains from his shoulders. Perhaps not _everything_ had changed between them.

“Been flirting with the idea of going full man-bun,” he shoots back. He hears her huff. “You think I could pull that off?”

She chuckles as she hands him a bottle, but she quickly sobers up, and his smile fades when he sees the solemn look on her face.

“Where have you been?”

He had dreaded that question, and the thought of lying comes to him, though he puts it out of his mind immediately. He doesn’t want to lie to her – ever. He takes a sip of his drink as he chooses his words carefully.

“I had business, Karen,” he says finally. She looks away, her expression unreadable. “I had to finish.”

She crosses her arms and looks back up at him, her hair veiling half her face.

“And you finished it?” she asks, her voice steady though the way her hands clench into fists betrays her inner turmoil. He almost feels like she doesn’t want to know, but he answers anyway.

“Yeah.”

She sweeps past him to go into the living room. He gives her a moment to process his words. She knows him, knows what he is, but he is sure that, somewhere, she hopes he can change. And perhaps he could, someday. But not yet.

“Look, Karen,” he begins, drawing her gaze back to him from where it had been fixed on a point on the floor. “There’s somebody that knows I’m still alive.” Immediately, there is worry in her blue eyes, and a thousand questions: _are you in danger? Have you been hurt? What can I do to help?_ He already knows the answer to his next question, but he asks anyway, and hates himself for it. “I need to know if you said anything.”

He sees her recoil as if struck. The hurt in her eyes stabs at his heart.

“God, no,” she says. Her next words are edged with reproach. “You should know me better than that.”

He nods, looking away. He does know her. But he had to ask, if only to silence the voice in his mind that demanded he question her, just to be sure. He cursed that voice sometimes, even though it had kept him alive in situations where other men would have perished. He takes a deep breath before he speaks again. He hates appearing out of the blue after all these months just to ask a favour of her, but he has no one else with her skills he can turn to. No one he trusts as much as he trusts her.

“Look,” he starts. He wants to give her an out, but _yes_ , he knows her, and too well. “You wanna say no, you say no,” _somehow_ , a part of him wished that she _would_ , “but I could really use your help.”

He sees the change in her immediately, that intent look she gets when she’s looking at a new case to solve, her entire attention focused on one single thing – in this case, him. He’d be ready to bet that the thought of refusing hasn’t even crossed her mind. _Karen._

“You want me to help you find them,” she says. It wasn’t a question, but he nods anyway.

She sits down before motioning for him to tell her everything, and he explains as best he can, about Micro and his cryptic message. She listens intently, jotting down a quick note here and there on the notepad she had pulled from the coffee table. She is silent for a moment after he finishes, as if already planning her research.

“How do I contact you?” she finally asks, almost absent-mindedly.

He feels her watching him as he turns around and pulls his makeshift signal from his bag, and to see the shadow of a smile that plays on her lips when she sees the flowers in his hand pulls at his heart in a way he never thought anything – _anyone_ – ever would again.

“You bought me flowers?” she says, a laugh just on the edge of her words.

“Yeah. I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy,” he answers, setting them down in front of her. The way she reaches forward, brushing a finger on the underside of a petal, brings forward an inexplicable longing that he quickly pushes aside. “I was thinking if you had something, you could put the flowers in the window. I’ll call you.”

She nods then smile, a true smile, for the first time that day, though it is shadowed by concern and – something else.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay.”

They look at each other silently before he forces himself to turn away, taking his bag from where he had set it down on a nearby chair.

“Thanks for the beer,” he says, turning back to her. “Hey, you know – “

He hadn’t heard her stand, and suddenly her hands are on his shoulders, drawing him close against her. He feels her arms around his neck as she holds him as tight as she can, and he allows himself to close his eyes and let his bag fall to the floor unceremoniously, burying his face in her shoulder as he returns her embrace, hands pressing against her back. How he had longed for her touch in the long months since he had seen her last. The warmth of her body is comforting, welcome. How long has it been since he has even _touched_ another human being? He does not want to think about it.

When she pulls away, he almost wants to draw her in again, but he lets his hands fall to his sides, though hers remain around his neck. She’s standing so close that he can see the pale freckles that dot the bridge of her nose, and each and every strand of her golden hair.

“Just really good to see you,” she says quietly, though she still doesn’t let go of him.

“It’s good to see you,” he answers, and hopes she never does.

She looks down, and she almost seems about to step back, but instead she looks back up at him with a strange light in her eyes, and draws in again, slowly, painstakingly so, her intent clear, giving him an eternity to pull away should he wish to. His mind is racing even as he feels himself lean closer. He has never wanted anything as much as he wants to kiss her now. Not since –

She interrupts his dangerous train of thought when her lips meet his. Paralysed at first, he feels himself give in as her hands move from his neck to his hair, and he brings his own touch-starved hands up to her waist tentatively. She is so warm, pressed against him like this, so _alive_. His mind is mercifully empty, and he wants _more_.

He feels her gasp against his mouth when he presses himself closer, one hand coming up to tangle in the hair at the back of her head while the other lands at the small of her back, fingers digging in the soft flesh there as he returns her kiss hungrily. He feels her hands leaving his hair to grab the lapels of his coat, yanking him impossibly closer, and a chuckle rumbles through him.

“Don’t rip it now,” he breathes. “I only have the one.”

“Don’t care,” she answers, though she does let go in favour of probing blindly for the buttons. He parts from her reluctantly, just enough for the both of them to work them all free. She pushes the coat off his shoulders the moment they’re done, and he lets it fall to the floor in a heap, too focused on finding her mouth again, drawing her back in with both hands on her hips. He lets his fingers slip up to where her shirt is tucked into the waistband of her skirt, pulling slightly.

“That okay?” he asks. He feels her kicking off her heels.

“Yeah,” she answers, brushing his fingers with hers as she pulls the shirt free herself. Her eyes flutter shut when she feels his hand smoothing over her back. “Yeah.”

She sighs when he leaves her mouth to kiss her cheek, her jaw and down the side of her neck, though his exploration is cut short by the high neckline of her shirt. Before he can ponder pulling it off her, she tugs him back up to her mouth for another kiss and pulls away slightly, a few steps at a time, guiding him toward the sofa. Her hair look like spun gold in the gloom of her apartment, and he does not remember ever seeing anything as beautiful.

He lets her push him down on the couch, admiring her long limbs as she straddles him without any trace of hesitation, her skirt hiking up and up to reveal the pale crescents of her thighs. He angles his head up to kiss her again, but she pulls away, just enough to be able to look him in the eyes as her hands come up to cradle his bearded cheeks, her thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones slowly. His eyes flutter shut as she bends down to press a long, tender kiss to his forehead. He stiffens under the familiar gesture from another time, eyes snapping open as he waits for painful, unwanted memories to flash by, but nothing comes.

“Everything okay?” she whispers against the shell of his ear. The tension leaves his body as he smiles against her shoulder, kissing her there as his hands come up to grip her thighs.

“Yeah,” he answers, and looks up to her, meeting her blue gaze as he slides his hands up until his fingertips are just under the hem of her bunched skirt. She shivers. “Are you?”

“Yes,” she says, and he feels her legs parting just a bit more, her silent invitation to keep going. He does, and she sighs. “Never better.”

She’s kissing down the side of his face as he guides his hands up and up until he feels the fabric of her underwear. He moves his thumb to trace up from her knee to her inner thigh, aware of the inviting heat he can feel so close to where he is touching her. Her breath quickens against his cheek as he presses a finger there, against her entrance, before sliding up to favour the center of her pleasure, and the sharp intake of breath she gives as he rubs her through the cloth has warmth spreading through him like liquid fire. One hand moves to his shoulder while another tangle in his hair, as if steadying herself. He moves his thumb in a slow, circular motion, and the way she rolls her hips against him, looking for more friction, make him groan in anticipation. He turns his head to look at her, and the way she is squeezing her eyes shut, mouth pressed in a thin line as she works herself against his hand is a sight he hopes to remember for the rest of his days.

“I missed you, Karen.”

The words spill from his lips, unbidden, and her eyes flutter open to meet his, the fingers she had laced through his hair tightening into a fist. Even now, her expression is unreadable, but he sees nothing but acceptance in her eyes.

“I missed your voice, your face,” there is no stopping now. The words tumble from his lips like a wild river, try as he might to contain them. “Every day I thought about you. I’d wake up in the morning to go to work and I’d think of you. I’d come home in the evening and I’d think of you.”

He has her gasping now, and he finally pulls her underwear aside, his thumb returning to her center while a finger pushes inside her. Her eyes close again, and she presses her forehead against his. He closes his eyes as well, reveling in her warmth, in the way she feels around his finger. He feels himself stir, and stifles a moan as he speaks again.

“I worried about you, but mostly I just wanted to see you.” The words make him feel lighter, make all this seem more real. He is saying things he had not even wanted to admit to himself all those months, and he finds he doesn’t care. He pushes a second finger inside her, his efforts rewarded with a shaky moan that has him biting back one of his own. “I’d read the newspaper just to see your name. I’d read your articles and imagine your voice saying the words. If I’d had listened to myself, I would have found you months ago. Blown my cover, I know, but it wouldn’t have mattered.”

She laughs breathlessly at his words before throwing her head back with a shudder. He feels her tightening around his fingers, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to her throat as she comes, pressing her against him with a hand on the small of her back. The hand she has on his shoulder scrabble at his undershirt, bunching in the fabric, as she brings her head down to look at him, her hair falling like a veil around her face as the feverish blue of her eyes seek to meet his gaze. He removes his hand from her, bringing it up to her hair to pull her in for a kiss. He feels both her hands snake down his chest as she parts from him, stopping at the clasp of his jeans. One ventures lower, cupping him through his pants. He sucks in a breath, his eyes not leaving hers.

“If you’re sure,” he says simply.

“I am,” she answers. “I am.”

He lets her unbutton his jeans, kissing the shell of her ear, feeling her hand reach in to pull him free from his clothes. Her fingers on his heated flesh are almost enough to undo him right then and there, and he almost feels like a fumbling teenager again.

“I don’t have a condom,” he whispers, the hand stroking him making it rather difficult to gather his thoughts.

“It’s ok,” she answers, and presses a kiss to his temple. “Yeah?”

He can only manage a nod, and watches as she lifts herself off his lap, pressing him against her entrance before she slowly sinks down on him, both breathing hard. He grips her thighs tightly, squeezing his eyes shut, mustering every bit of the self-control left to him to not come right then, so soft and warm was she. He hears her exhale shakily as she finally takes all of him, and opens his eyes to see a hint of discomfort on her face. His hand immediately reaches up to her cheek, meeting her eye. She must see his concern, as she simply smiles and covers his hand with hers.

“Been a while,” is all she says.

He manages a quiet chuckle. “Yeah.”

His hands move to her hips when hers grab his shoulders, and she kisses his brow before starting to move, slowly, agonizingly so, both mindful of the other, until she rolls her hips just so, wrenching a loud groan from him as his grip tightens on her hips.

“Frank.”

How long has it been since he has heard his name whispered this way? It seems like a lifetime ago. He feels his control slowly slipping from his grasp. She takes one of his hands in hers, bringing it up to her mouth to kiss his palm.

“I won’t break, Frank,” she says, lacing her fingers through his. He looks up at her pleadingly, and she nods, smiling. “You won’t hurt me.”

Her words break any semblance of will he has left, and he is moving against her, thrusting harder as he loses himself in her. His eyes do not leave hers as their rhythm grows faster, their voices melting together as they race toward their peak. A hand fists in his hair, pulling hard, but he does not care.

“Frank,” she gasps as her eyes flutter closed, untangling her fingers from his hair to press her hand to his chest, while the other grips his tighter. “Frank.”

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, squeezes his eyes shut, and realises hazily that he does not feel guilty for hearing another woman call out his name in such a way. But the thought is quickly swept away by the matter at hand, to be dwelled upon later. He feels her tighten again, her breath coming in gasps as her peak drawn near. His own is looming as well, the tight ball of heat in his belly ready to burst any moment.

“Karen, I’m – I can’t – “ he pants, vaguely aware of her voice against his ear as she answers.

“It’s okay,” she gasps, cursing as his thumb returns to her core. “It’s okay. Do it. It’s all okay.”

And just like that he is done, coming apart inside her as she kisses his forehead, his temple, his brow. He gives a last few hard jolts and she quivers in his arms as she comes as well, a long, thin moan wrenching itself from her throat as she falls against him. The apartment is silent but for the harsh sounds of their breathing, the noises of the outside world slowly fading in as time seems to resume its course.

After a moment, she slowly pushes herself up, looking down at him before freeing the hand still gripping his and standing up, making her way across the apartment to what he assumes is her bathroom. He waits until he hears the door close before standing up as well, tucking himself back into his pants before making his way to the kitchen to splash some water on his face. He goes back to the living room, picking his coat up from where he had let it fall, wondering if she expects to talk about what just happened between them. His own mind is racing with conflicting emotions, and he does not want to dwell upon them for now – not that he ever wants to, but he figures he must, at some point. He buttons his coat, pulls his hood up, and lifts his bag on his shoulder. He caresses the idea of simply leaving without waiting for her, but he knows he cannot do that. Not to her.

When she returns, nothing betrays the state she was in a mere minute ago; her skirt is smoothed back into place, her shirt tucked in, her hair a smooth curtain of gold. He is almost afraid to look up at her face, but when he does, all he finds is a small smile. She steps forward until she can touch him, patting a hand over his chest. For the first time in what seems like a century, he feels _human._

“I missed you, too.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
